


little high, little low

by mrFutureBoy



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Stuart Little (Movies)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Not Beta Read, Time Travel, kind of lol, the word pedophile is said for a play on words joke but there is no pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrFutureBoy/pseuds/mrFutureBoy
Summary: Doc takes Marty to New York City circa 1999 to save the life of a verymousyfuture family member.(or, a tease of a potential Stuart Little crossover)
Relationships: Emmett "Doc" Brown & Marty McFly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	little high, little low

**Author's Note:**

> this literally only exists because mjf voices stuart, and my friend theo and i couldn't stop making jokes after watching stuart little together. honestly i'm pretty sure the best bits of this fic came from him. also, i don't have any idea of an actual plot or how exactly the characters are related to each other, but i figured this was enough for a one off lol.

The DeLorean stops abruptly along the curb across the street from a small, colorful house wedged in between much larger, less colorful buildings. The passenger side door of the time machine opens with a _whoosh_ and red and white Nikes hit the pavement. 

“So _this_ is New York City,” Marty thinks aloud, surveying the street. He can hear children screeching with laughter as they run down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. “Remind me again what we’re doin’ here, Doc? What’s wrong with my kids this time?” he asks facetiously. He looks back to Doc. “And what’s with the dorky sweater vest?”

Another _whoosh_.

“It’s not your kids, Marty, but it is a blood relative.” Doc hurries over to where Marty’s still got his hand on the open door, and he bends over to retrieve a few items from the glove box. “My clothes were a bit out of place; you know a thing or two about that. That puffy vest will attract just as much attention now as it did in 1955; here, put this on.” He pulls back and pushes a bundle of thick fabric into Marty’s hands. The teen holds it up in front of himself with a slight grimace. His very own dorky sweater vest.

Doc takes Marty’s discarded clothes and trades him a pair of binoculars. A familiar voice catches the scientist’s ear and he rushes to close the door. He puts his hand on Marty’s shoulder to urge him to duck behind the time machine.  
  
“There he is, Marty. That’s your relative.” Doc’s following the target through his binoculars. He urgently nudges Marty with his elbow. “See for yourself, Marty. He’s right across the street, about to walk up the steps of that house.”

Marty raises his binoculars to his eyes. There’s a boy with blond, spiky hair and glasses talking to himself on the bottom step leading up to the house. “That’s my relative? He looks nothing like me, Doc. How far into the future are we, anyway?”

“No, no, not him. The _other_ boy!”

“What other boy, Doc? He’s talking to himself! Is the problem that he doesn’t have any friends?”

Doc shakes his head and tilts Marty’s head down so he is looking near the boy’s feet. “ _That_ is the boy we’re worried about, Marty!”

Marty has seen plenty of crazy things while time traveling with Doc, but this takes the cake. 

“Doc...” he trails off. He lowers his binoculars and looks at the scientist, who’s still staring at the boy across the street. His _blood relative_. “Doc, ah, I can’t be related to him, I mean...Doc, that’s a _mouse_!”

A bipedal, talking, sweater-wearing mouse. Doc _must_ be joking. 

“Of course you’re related, Marty.” Doc pulls away from the binoculars to take a quick look at Marty, then looks back at the mouse across the street. “The resemblance is uncanny; I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!” 

Marty opens his mouth to refute Doc’s claim—sure, he’s _small_ , but he’s no mouse!—then stops himself. He raises his binoculars again in time to watch the blond boy and the mouse enter their home. He sighs deeply before lowering them and turning back to Doc. If this mouse truly is related to him, then he has no choice but to play along.

“So what’s the deal here, Doc? What kind of spacetime-continuum-altering trouble can someone like him even get into?”

Doc takes the binoculars back from Marty. “Let’s just say it’s an…interspecies issue.”

“It’s an interspecies issue, alright.”

“Your relative here is a target for several predators—”

“Something tells me you’re not talking about, ah, pedophiles here, Doc.”

“If we don’t intervene, he’s going to fall prey to—”

“ _Prey_. Yeah, no kidding!”

“Now, Marty, we better scurry along, before—”

“Okay, now you’re doing this on purpose, Doc.”

“I promise I’ll give you the details later, Marty. I’m not supposed to be parked here. They’re not especially keen on blocking traffic in New York.”

As if on cue, a taxi swerves around the DeLorean and lays on the horn. Doc raises his hand after the vehicle, and this is the first time Marty’s ever seen Doc give someone such a crude gesture.

“Sorry about that, Marty, I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems to be…part of the culture. That’s New York City, for you.” He shrugs, then grins and waves a friendly hand at Marty. “Come on; once we get the time machine legally parked somewhere less conspicuous, we’ll go get something to eat and I’ll fill you in on the plan. That’s the beauty of New York City, as opposed to somewhere like Hill Valley,” Doc adds with a delighted sigh. He opens the driver’s side door and gets behind the wheel of the DeLorean.

“The food?” Marty queries as he climbs into the passenger’s seat. He closes the door behind himself.

“The anonymity! We can talk freely in public and no one will bat an eye. We can do almost anything in public and get no more than a passing glance! Anything except illegally park a DeLorean on a residential street, it seems.”

“Sounds a little lonely, Doc,” Marty admits.

“Being lonely in New York is much different than being lonely in Hill Valley, Marty,” Doc says solemnly, gripping the steering wheel.

Marty realizes he’s speaking from experience, but the scientist doesn’t dwell on it.

“They don’t have food vendors in Hill Valley, either. You up for a walk through Central Park?”

“Only if we’re gonna get disgustingly overloaded hotdogs.” Marty grins over at him. “I’m starving, Doc.”

Doc grins back. “Wouldn’t be an authentic New York City experience, otherwise.” He starts the ignition and speeds off, getting honked at by another aggravated taxi driver. This time, Marty offers the crude gesture.


End file.
